


sunday candy

by quidhitch



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian Domesticity, i love 2 moms... and their 1 baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 07:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidhitch/pseuds/quidhitch
Summary: “Carol Danvers,” Maria hisses, rolling over and grabbing for Carol’s arms. “See if Ieverlet you spend the night again.”





	sunday candy

**Author's Note:**

> i Love them. i love them!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1h9bcrC6Q8

Maria jolts awake to the sound of donkeys braying uncomfortably close to her ear.

It takes what feels like an eternity to realize they’re not real donkeys, but electronic ones coming from the radio alarm clock on her bedside. It takes a smaller but no less agonizing eternity to realize the sound is being supplemented by a maniacal cackling, where, on the other side of the bed, her best friend is shaking the rickety mattress with how hard she’s laughing.

“Carol Danvers,” Maria hisses, rolling over and grabbing for Carol’s arms. “See if I _ever_ let you spend the night again."

They wrestle for a minute, Carol still grinning amidst kicking arms and legs. The sun spills light through the window above Maria’s bed, casting Carol’s skin in golden light. She’s beautiful, even when she’s half-losing it like a two year old and half-grimacing at the effort of holding Maria at bay. She manages to wriggle away from Maria’s grip, mercilessly targeting the ticklish spot on her side with a wicked grin. Maria bats her hands away, but not before Carol gets in a solid prod at her waist, drawing choked off laughter from her throat.

“ _I_ thought it was funny,” Carol says, lips tipped in an infuriatingly smug smile. “There’s also a pig setting. Took me a long time to decide.”

“Uh-huh,” Maria rolls her eyes, finally giving up on pinning Carol’s wrists. “Must be tough having so much responsibility."

Maria rolls over to her side of the bed and stares up at the crack in the ceiling. Next to her, Carol folds her arms beneath her head and tilts her head to the side.

“Still need me to watch Monica today?”

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Maria hesitates, glancing at Carol in her periphery. The playfulness starts to drain from her expression as she gradually remembers every excruciating Real Life Thing she has to deal with today. “I can call my mom.”

Carol scrunches her nose. “Better not. Lieutenant Trouble and I already have big plans.”

“That’s very worrying but I have way too much to deal with today as it is, so I’m gonna ignore it.”

Maria forces herself to sit up properly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and rubbing at her eyes.

Carol crawls across the bed, gets up on her knees and throws her arms around Maria’s neck from behind, her slight frame pressing into Maria’s back, blonde curls falling across Maria’s temple. “You seem stressed,” Carol says lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the juncture of Maria’s neck and shoulder, “gonna be a rough day?”

Maria absently places a hand on Carol’s forearm, leaning against her and letting her eyes drift closed. “Probably, yeah. You know that guy at the bank who spends 5 whole minutes sniffing his sandwich before eating it?”

“Smelly Stan?”

“I thought his name was Alfred.”

“Yeah, but Smelly Stan suits him. Spiritually.”

“Mm,” Maria concedes, emitting a soft exhale as a smile unwittingly takes shape on her mouth. “Yeah. Got meeting with him today. Mortgage stuff.”

Carol doesn’t say anything, just rubs sweetly at Maria’s tense shoulders and kisses the underside of her jaw. Maria allows it for a couple of moments - briefly wishing she could melt back into bed and spend the rest of the day there - but reality pulls her to her feet, makes her stumble towards the bathroom.

“You should wear that dress I like today. The one with the sunflowers.”

Maria shoots her an over-the-shoulder skeptical glance. Carol’s propped up against the headboard and fiddling with her dog tags, rumpled boxers low on her hips, drowning in an oversized Bananarama t-shirt.

“You’re ridiculous,” Maria tells her, but Carol must catch sight of her blush, because she breaks into the corniest kind of grin as Maria turns away.

* * *

When Maria pulls into her driveway that evening, she promptly forgets the 4 different men who sneered at her today, the crappy burnt coffee that was all the lunch she had time for, and the past due bills shoved in her glove box.

Her baby is wearing a suit.

It’s too big for Monica’s little frame, someone has painstakingly rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and then — maybe secured them there, with rubber bands, Maria realizes, releasing an exhale of quiet laughter. A tiny daisy peeks out from her lapel and there’s a bowtie pinned crookedly to the front of her white polo shirt. As Maria steps out of the car and approaches, she realizes it’s dotted with little bottles of Tabasco sauce.

Carol did her hair today so it’s an absolute mess, the odd butterfly clip and misplaced bobby pin protruding from her head like a strange kind of crown.It’s almost as laughable as her posture - a puffed out chest and a chin tilted absurdly high, one hand tucked behind her as the other supports a plate with a silver covering dish.

“Madame,” Monica says, breaking into a silly gap-toothed grin.

“Monsieur,” Maria says back, dipping into a little curtsy. Monica giggles, and the sound makes affection bloom in Maria’s chest. “What do you have there?”

Monica takes away the silver lid with a dramatic flourish, nearly losing her hold on the plate in the process. She reveals what appears to be a Twinkie, cut in into neat little pieces. Maria presses a smile against her knuckles.

“Hor d’oeuvres,” Monica says sagely, holding the plate closer to Maria.

Maria dutifully selects a piece, taking a delicate bite off the tip. Relieving artificial sweetness breaks across Maria’s tongue and Monica, practically bouncing on her heels with excitement, sets the plate down on the porch swing. She tucks her tiny hand into Maria’s. Maria could spend hours thinking about that — how small Monica’s hands are.

She leads Maria through the house and into the backyard, where they both come face to face with who is undoubtedly the perpetrator of this evening.

Carol stands at parade rest, also in a suit, aviators resting on her nose and bouquet wildflowers clasped in her hand. Maria’s so caught up in how beautifully silly she looks that it takes her a second to notice — they’ve strung up fairy lights around the back of the house. They washed the checkered tablecloth Maria uses for summer picnics and spread it out on the patio table. Also on the table is a feast; more Twinkies, deconstructed Lunchables, and chicken and waffles from P’Oshines, all laid out on mismatched dishes.

“Madame,” Carol says, tilting forward so her glasses slip just slightly down the bridge of her nose.

“Oh my god,” Maria says, the expression steeped in tired laughter.

“Do you like it?” Monica asks, tugging on the hem of Maria’s dress. Maria suddenly understands why Carol insisted she wear it that morning, even if Maria had argued that sunflowers were far too froofy for errand attire. “We didn’t make the dinner, but Auntie Carol said that was probably for the best anyways. We also cleaned the whole house and washed the car and organized your toolbox. I borrowed this suit from Alfie next door. He wore it to his grandma’s funeral, which is sad, but, like, not really that sad, ‘cause she lived to be 92.”

Maria braces her hands underneath Monica’s arms and lifts her up, settling her against a cocked hip. “My perfect baby,” she says, and peppers Monica’s laughing face with kisses. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

“Auntie Carol, too, mom!” Monica insists, looking at Carol with that same goofy grin. “I was the Creating Director. She was my henchman.”

“Creative director,” Maria corrects, kissing the apple of Monica’s cheek. She looks at Carol, features settled into soft amusement. “Thank you, Henchman.”

Carol’s mouth twists into a smirk, one that makes heat spread along Maria’s cheeks despite herself. “You’re welcome, Mom.”

Monica gets to stay up an hour and a half past bedtime because Maria can’t bear to be the one who tears her away from Carol’s animated story about getting chased by wild dogs on a cliff in Arizona. Her face is sticky with syrup from the waffles and she has a worrying assortment of wood chips in her hair, but she’s laughing so hard her face is red with it. Maria is laughing, too, the kind of laugh she didn’t think would be possible on a day like today.

Halfway through the evening, Carol shrugs off her suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of her white dress shirt, leaving a couple of buttons undone like the rogue she is. Under the table, Maria reaches for her hand, thumb sliding along the callous on her ring finger. Carol spares Maria half an embarrassed glance before resuming with the story, and Monica doesn’t notice the subtle exchange, too enthralled with making a finger sandwich out of the constituent pieces of her Lunchable.

After they put Monica to bed Maria tries to help clean up, but Carol threatens, with considerable veracity, to tie her to the fridge.

“In a dirty way?” Maria asks, arching an eyebrow. Carol flicks her on the nose.

So Maria sits on the counter, swinging her legs and thumping her shoes on the cabinet, watching Carol do dishes and pack everything into neat Tupperware. They’ll be living on the leftovers for a week, at least, and Maria doesn’t know how she’s going to pay Carol back, but it doesn’t feel particularly pressing at the moment.

“What got into you today?” Maria asks, pointing at Carol with the end of a Twinkie. “What was all this about?”

“What, you’re the only one allowed to be responsible in this household?” Carol asks, mouth set in a mild version of her cheeky, devil-may-care grin. “Maybe we just felt like showing you up, Bossypants.”

“You’re spending too much time with my child.”

“She _is_ my only friend.”

Maria prods Carol’s hip with the toe of her shoe. “Your only friend? Excuse me?”

Carol sets down the dish, wipes her hand on her slacks, and catches Maria around the ankle, stepping forward and pulling Maria against her in one smooth movement that empties all the air out of Maria’s lungs. “Not my only friend,” Carol admits, bridging the minuscule distance between them to kiss Maria’s nose. “I love you.”

“Shut up,” Maria scoffs, looping her arms around Carol’s neck. “You do all this for me and you think you’re the one who gets to say ‘I love you’? Entitled.”

Carol’s smile is gentle, questioning, as her hand slides along the curve of Maria’s calf, “Just shooting my shot.”

Maria leans forward to kiss her, a gentle press of lips that gradually burns warmer as Carol rests her palm in the crook of Maria’s knee, tilts her head to deepen the kiss. The hem of Maria’s dress hikes up by necessity as Carol steps between her legs and Maria exhales a soft note of surprise, fingers closing tight into the soft material of the button down. Carol’s starched collar is stiff and funny beneath her fingers.

They break apart, distant worry suddenly twisting in Maria’s chest. “Is she asleep?” Maria asks, glancing over Carol’s shoulder at the staircase. “Like, definitely, 100% asleep?”

“Soundly. Snoring by the time I closed the door.”

Maria glances at Carol, whose wet mouth and lidded eyes are far more tempting than they have any right to be. “Sure you’re not just saying that to get lucky?”

“I’m already lucky.”

Maria makes a face. “God, you’re corny.”

“And you complain too much,” Carol says, proceeding to kiss the resounding indignation off Maria’s mouth.

“I love you,” Maria says, resting her forehead against Carol’s. “Thank you for today.”

Carol kisses both her eyelids, soft as anything. “Yeah, yeah.” She waggles her eyebrows, because she is a massive dork. “You should know, I’m expecting a really generous tip.”

Maria rolls her eyes but reaches forward to place her thumb in the dip of Carol’s lower lip. She watches Carol’s bright eyes go soft, almost hazy.

“Guess I can live with that.”

“See? Told you I was lucky.”

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @ quidhitch


End file.
